


Too Much

by dragonwings948



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Don't say I didn't warn you, Episode: s04e06 The Doctor's Daughter, Episode: s09e10 Face the Raven, Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Sad, Sad Ending, basically depression in a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16194485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwings948/pseuds/dragonwings948
Summary: Following Clara's death, the Doctor reflects on how Clara was too much like him. | Following the Doctor's memory wipe, Clara reflects on how she did exactly what the Doctor would have done.





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I've never posted this?? It's been done for a long time now and I think I keep telling myself I've posted it but I never did? 
> 
> Anyway, I started writing this fic exactly a year after Face the Raven aired. I watched The Doctor’s Daughter on that day, and at the end, when the Tenth Doctor was holding Jenny, I could suddenly see the Twelfth Doctor holding Clara’s body. She had been too much like him. Thus, this fic was born.

_“Let me be brave.”_

With the Doctor’s sensitive hearing, he could easily pick up Clara’s breathily spoken words. They pierced him to the core. She _was_ brave, braver than he was. Even after all the times he had died, he had never been able to look death in the face, to take it straight on, to face it _alone._

            The raven cawed. A shiver crawled up the Doctor’s spine. Such a fitting omen of death.

            He watched it fly through the air, a feathery black mass darting towards Clara. The Doctor clenched his fists at his sides, digging his fingernails into his palms. He wanted nothing more than to drag Clara away, pound that stupid bird into the ground, or at least hold Clara’s hand as she faced it.

            But he couldn’t. He had to honor her final wish.

            Finally the raven collided with her chest. Clara’s body shot backwards, and simultaneously the Doctor felt a kick in his gut. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run, to give up, to retreat back into the furthest corners of the universe. Why should he be forced to go on forever, when in the end everything he loved was always ripped from his grasp?

            But rather than give in to his emotions, the Doctor stared. He couldn’t even blink. His eyes remained glued to her form. How could this be real? How could it be Clara, _his Clara,_ dying? How had _he_ let this happen?

            Then came the scream. It was _terrible,_ piercing his very soul, rattling him to the core. His entire body tensed, waiting to spring into action at the sound of her agony. But there was nothing he could do. It was already over.

            _Clara is in pain. Clara is dying._

He knew what it felt like to die, and he would never, ever wish that upon anyone.

            Not Clara. _Not Clara._

Black smoke drifted into the air. Clara collapsed onto the street, her body limp. His feet automatically started forward, ready to rush to her side, but there was no point.

            She was still.

            He walked forward slowly. For a moment, everything was frozen. The Earth stopped spinning. The whole of time paused. The Doctor’s mind was quiet.

            It was already in mourning.

            He knelt down by her side. Her body was motionless. Her heart was silent. He sat down and pulled her body into his lap, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow.

            Tears stung at his eyes. He stared at her expressionless face and seemed to remember every look she ever gave him, every emotion she had conveyed. It wasn’t right for her face to be like this. Clara Oswald, always so emotional…

            “No,” he muttered gruffly to himself, but the memories came all the same.

            “Clara.” His breathing began to shudder. He couldn’t see clearly anymore through the tears that blurred his vision. He pressed his lips to her forehead and hugged her body close, his breathing no more than shuddering sobs.

            He normally didn’t have flashbacks, didn’t remember things from long ago, but something about this was just too familiar. The sadness, the tears…death.

            _Jenny._ Yes, that had been her name. His daughter…sort of. She had died for him. He had held her. He’d cried.

            He had hoped she would regenerate, but Martha had told him that it was impossible. She had been like him, but not enough.

            _“No, too much,”_ he remembered saying. He looked down at Clara as the words echoed in his mind. His tears finally spilled over. _“That’s the truth of it. She was too much like me.”_

The Doctor bowed his head and cried.

_What had he done?_

* * *

 

            _“Don’t you worry. I’ll remember.”_

The Doctor’s words pierced Clara to the core because she knew, to the last, the Doctor was lying.

            Finally his eyes drifted closed, and Clara caught his head before it hit the floor. She stared at his slack expression, willing him to wake up.

            A shiver ran up her spine at her last thought. No, that was the last thing she wanted. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the Doctor looking at her like a stranger. After all they had been through…

            _Why?_ Why did this have to happen? Was she just doomed to have everyone she loved torn from her grasp? First her mother, then Danny, now her best friend, her partner in crime, the only other person who really mattered.

            How could this have happened? It was supposed to be the other way around; _she,_ the companion, was supposed to get the memory wipe. Not him. Not the Doctor. He was supposed to keep living, keep remembering, so that even if she were dead, she would always be there with him…

            How had _she_ let this happen?

            The silence was crippling. Clara had the urge to fill it with something, anything, but there was no point. It was all over.

            _All of our memories…gone._

            Not the Doctor. _Not the Doctor._

            Clara lowered herself to the floor and let the Doctor’s head lie in her lap. She felt more tears escape, making cold, wet trails down her cheeks. With the Doctor’s face so passive and cold, Clara seemed to remember every scornful and grumpy look he had ever given her.

            “Please,” she begged something, anything. She had always imagined what the ending of their story would be, but not even her imagination had dreamed up something as terrible as this.

            But she knew she couldn’t just sit here crying. She had work to do before he woke up.

            Inhaling a deep breath, Clara bent over and kissed his forehead, more tears spilling from her eyes and dropping onto the Doctor’s face.

            “I didn’t think you would do it.”

            Clara gasped, having completely forgotten about Ashildr’s presence. For a few precious minutes, the entire world had been wiped clean away and replaced with the Doctor.

            “’Course I did,” Clara responded, her voice coming out strong despite the tears. She wiped a sleeve over her eyes, unable to tear her gaze from the Doctor. She gently lifted his head and set it on the ground. “I had to.” She stood up beside him and finally looked at Ashildr, whose eyes were soft with compassion.

            The immortal girl looked down at the Doctor, her frown growing deeper. “And he was prepared to do the same. I’ve never seen two people so equal.”

            Clara had to emit a short laugh after that. “That’s the truth of it.” She looked at the memory wipe on the ground lying next to the Doctor’s still form. “I’m too much like him.”

            Clara bowed her head and sighed.

            _What had she done?_

 

 

 


End file.
